


The Gordian Talk

by TerrusDacktellus



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Buffy the Vampire Slayer (Comics)
Genre: Angst, Buffy comics, Canon insert fic, F/M, Love Dares You III, Spuffy, long involved conversations, these 2 idiots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-04
Updated: 2015-04-04
Packaged: 2018-03-21 06:12:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3680988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TerrusDacktellus/pseuds/TerrusDacktellus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Talking isn't her strong point, but for him, she'll make an exception. Spike and Buffy have a conversation about their relationship, like mature, sensible adults.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Gordian Talk

**Author's Note:**

> Writing insert fic as usual, bcs I am trash. Takes place during Buffy 10x13, Love Dares You Pt III.

After they’d said goodbye this morning (Spike had pressed her up against his bedroom door, the wall, the fridge and finally the front door on their way out, kissing her over and over) Buffy had wondered what it would be like to see him later. Would he give her that big, cocky grin of his and plant a kiss on her, sweeping her into his arms, movie style? Or would he be shy, as he unexpectedly was sometimes, hesitant and unsure until she took his hand, then giving her that glowing look she treasured? Certainly in her imagination, he hadn’t look worried, exhausted and more than a little beaten up, but here he was with dark circles around his eyes, his hair in a mess and the remnants of a nosebleed coating his nostrils. 

She struggled with her conflicting feelings as the others filed out of the room, casting anxious glances back over their shoulders: on the one hand, Spike looked like crap, guilt and pain etched into his expressive features and her first instinct was to feel sorry for him. On the other hand, she kinda wanted to strangle him. Only the night before, she’d told him how much she valued his honesty, how much she needed that straight forwardness in her life and now he was apparently lying to her through his teeth. It was the kind of thing that made a girl feel a tiny bit furious. 

Willow closed the door behind her, leaving them alone in Giles’ apartment and Spike gestured for her to sit. He pulled up another chair in front of her so they were seated facing each other, close enough to touch but far enough to have to reach. He was being very, very careful of her personal space. Buffy folded her arms, then thought better of it and clasped her hands loosely in her lap. She didn’t want to look too intimidating, too closed off. She’d had enough of that. Spike sat forward and looked her straight in the eye.

“First of all, I owe you an apology,” he said quietly. “I want you to know that I had no intention of keeping this from you. I just - I wanted to be sure of what was goin’ on before I said it. ‘Cause I was afraid. But it was wrong to keep you in the dark, I should’ve come to you first with this and for that, Buffy, I really am truly sorry.”

“Apology accepted,” she said, trying not to sound snarky. “But I still have no idea what’s going on.” 

“Right, yeah,” he said, his voice so low it was almost a whisper. “That would be the thing.” 

His brow furrowed and his mouth worked soundlessly and Buffy’s stomach twisted. What could be so bad that Spike was afraid to say it? When he finally spoke, he seemed to be aiming the words at his boots and Buffy had to lean right forward to hear him. 

“It started with that dream last night. Y’know the one that had me all in a heap this morning?” 

The question seemed to be rhetorical and Buffy didn’t want to interrupt. He seemed to be getting on a roll, spilling it all out quickly, like ripping off a bandaid. 

“I dreamed that I killed some people. Slaughtered ‘em really, brutal like. It wasn’t a memory or anything but it was in the first person an’ that was the part that scared me, ‘cause in that dream, I liked it. Felt good. Didn’ get any more sleep after that but, y’know, just convinced myself it was a bad dream an’ that was that until I got the crime scene.” 

He hesitated and Buffy felt a sudden, nasty hunch creep up on her. 

“They were at the crime scene, weren’t they? The people from your dream?”

He nodded. “Yeah. ‘Zactly as I saw it the night before, same place, same clothes, same soddin’ blood everywhere.” He glanced up at her briefly and whatever he saw on her face made him drop his gaze again, clearly ashamed, leaving Buffy still oscillating between sympathy and frustration.   
“So then you decided not to tell me?” she asked and he grimaced. 

“Sort of. I didn’ know what to think. I was panicking to be honest, thought I was killin’ again, that I’d finally lost it.”

Buffy frowned. “But you were beside me all night. I’d have noticed if you left.”

“’S’what I told myself but I wasn’t sure. I wanted to be positive before I came to you with anything, I - ” his voice cracked a little and he cleared his throat. “I had so much to lose.” 

Sympathy won out and she reached over to touch his arm gently. He put his hand briefly over hers, his touch lingering as longing played on his face, then pulled away and went on. 

“I had no clue what to do, but I knew I couldn’t handle it by myself, so I, ah, told Xander. Of course, he didn’t know what to do anymore’n I did, so we went to Willow and Giles and they said they needed to test me for all sorts, so I asked Xander to keep you busy for a while.” 

Buffy snorted and he winced. “‘M sorry about that. I had my reasons, bloody stupid though they may’ve been an’ I’ll get to them in a minute, right?” 

She nodded. 

“Right, so, they did a bunch of tests on me an’ came up with sweet fuck all. Was honestly starting to think I’d be taking a little stroll in the sunlight tomorrow morning, the way things were going.” 

He either didn’t see or ignored her flinch at the thought of letting him burn to death for the second time. 

“But then they tested for this somnolence thing and sure enough, they found someone had made some sort of link to me in my sleep. Then they reopened the connection an’ we saw that couple that died last night, only they’d been vamped. Same vamps you’d a run in with earlier. Checked with Dowling and someone’d let ‘em out of the morgue. Couldn’a been me, I was with Xander, Will an’ Giles all day. And well, you know the rest.” 

They sat in silence for a moment as Buffy wrestled with her thoughts, wavering between yelling or hugging him or climbing into his lap and kissing him - although that last impulse had less to do with the situation at hand and more to do with the stupid, shallow part of her brain that seemed to come to the fore whenever Spike was around, the part that thought ditching this dumb argument and licking him all over was a viable solution. Lusty Buffy had finally got some last night and she was not keen on the idea of a mature, sensible distance. 

“This somnorous thing,” she said, finally deciding on getting the full story before she made any decisions. “What does it mean?” 

“Somnolence,” corrected Spike gently, with a hint of a smile. “As far as I can understand, it means that someone, or something, has got some sort of door into my brain that they can open when I’m asleep. They can’t control me exactly, but they can make me see things, suggest things to me. Same soddin’ difference.”

His smile turned bitter and Buffy felt a twist in her chest. The treacherous thought occurred to her, that life had been easier back when she hated him, before his pain had started to hurt her too. Easier, but not better, she added mentally and reached out to him again, cupping his cheek. 

“When are people gonna stop messing with your head, huh?” she said and he let out a tired laugh. 

“No idea. Sooner rather than later’d be my preference.” 

She stroked his skin gently with her fingertips for another moment and he closed his eyes. He really did look worn out: there was an almost threadbare quality to him and she wondered if it was selfish of her to expect them to hash it all out now. Maybe she should let him get some rest? There was still a massive knot in her stomach though, an acidic ball of semi-suppressed feelings, which, she knew from experience, would come bursting out of her in horrible ways if she didn’t deal with them soon. It still stung that he hadn’t told her straight away, after all they’d been through and his admission that he’d enjoyed himself during that dream gave her a cold, crawling sensation on her skin. It was so easy to forget the guy he’d been when he first came to Sunnydale, to forget that the hands that caressed her skin and cuddled kittens these days used to break bones and strangle. It was an uncomfortable juxtaposition. The man who’d made love to her last night, made her come until she was hoarse from screaming and held her so sweetly afterwards, was responsible for the murders of tens of thousands of people and she didn’t know how she felt about that. Guilty? For what? For not taking all those chances to stake him back when he was chipped? If she had, he’d never have had the chance to redeem himself and who knew how that final battle in the hell mouth would’ve turned out, how she would’ve managed that last year in Sunnydale without his unhesitating support, his final sacrifice. She had been right not to kill him, some greater force must have stayed her hand and yet it felt almost like a betrayal of her calling, a slight against the memories of his innumerable victims to even consider falling in love with him. Should she end things now? It would simpler: she wouldn’t have to go through this agonising process of putting every convoluted, painful thought into words. 

“I need to know why exactly you couldn’t tell me,” she said at last, letting her hand fall back into her lap. 

“I had a coupla reasons,” he said sheepishly. “Each stupider than the last.” He pulled a battered pack of cigarettes from his pocket and fished one out, but didn’t light it, choosing instead to turn it over and over in his long fingers. 

“You know the main one, o’ course. I didn’t want - I couldn’t face it, I mean, just the thought of you . . . of losing you . . . ” He trailed off. She’d never seen him so caught for words. Spike always had words. They were very frequently the least appropriate words possible, but he was never speechless. 

“I don’t want to lose you either,” she told him quietly and he shot her a quick, startled look. The shock on his face cut at her unexpectedly, the surprise that he could be precious to her the way she was to him. 

“I know,” he said, sounding anything but sure. “’S just, I was afraid that this’d be too much for you.”

“Gee, your faith in me is comforting,” she snapped, insulted. 

“I know that sounds bad, but after everything we’ve been through - everything I did to you - I thought it’d be the last straw, if there was even a chance that I was killing people.” 

“You thought that I’d run at the first hint of trouble,” she accused, ignoring the little voice reminding her that she was half considering doing just that. 

“It sounds a lot worse when you put it like that,” he mumbled. “Was just trying to protect you.”

“I don’t need protection!” 

“I know, I know, I just . . . I’m not used to this.” 

“To what? Dating someone who isn’t a helpless damsel in distress?!” 

“No!” He was leaning forward in his seat now, gripping the arms of the chair so tightly that they were in danger of breaking. “To being equal!!” 

They both paused, staring at each other, Buffy shocked and Spike mortified. He very clearly hadn’t intended to let that slip. After a second, he averted his eyes and began combing his fingers through his hair, his lips pressed into a flat line of discomfort. Buffy sat and tried to sort through the tangled web of the conversation. She was beginning to get a headache. 

“What do you mean?” she asked finally. 

“I was with Dru for a century or so,” he said. “Did everything for her, anything to keep her happy, because I adored her.”

“Your psychotic ex is not number one on my list of things I want to hear about right now,” said Buffy a little bitterly. 

“I’m trying to explain something.” 

He spoke without reproach, which made her feel guilty for snapping at him. Her desire to run about a thousand miles from this conversation intensified: it was too complicated, a Gordian knot that defied all attempts at disentanglement and she longed to cut cleanly through it, to spring into action instead of getting increasingly lost in webs of words. The awkward silence stretched out until Spike reached over and intertwined his fingers very loosely with hers. 

“Can I talk to you?” he asked. 

“Is that not what we’re doing?” she replied with a weak attempt at a smile. 

“Not what I meant. I wanna - I want to be able to tell you things. To - shit, ‘m no good at this.” 

Another conversation nudged its way into Buffy’s mind, another hesitant dance of shyness and intense honesty. _I’ve never been close to anyone. Least of all you._ Another conversation she’d run from. _Does it have to mean anything?_ How often had she rued those words after he’d died? If she’d been willing to talk to him, to really let him in, would he have believed her, down in the hell mouth? How different would the last few years have been without the weight of that regret? 

“Me either,” she told him and squeezed his hand lightly. “I’m sorry. Go on, I’m listening.” 

“I loved Dru,” he went on. “And she loved me too, as much as she was capable, which wasn’t a whole lot. It kinda went without saying that I loved her more. My whole life long, ‘ve always been the one who loves more an’ it made me afraid.” His fingers clenched around hers. 

“Of what?”

“Of asking. For anything. Always felt like she’d given me more’n I deserved jus’ by picking me. An’ that was just Dru. You, on the other hand” - he looked straight at her, his blue eyes very near her face - “you’re the sun, Buffy. What right does something like me have to ask someone like you for anything?”

His raw honesty left her speechless, the deep vein of insecurity that had always throbbed close to his surface now completely exposed to her, bare and vulnerable. She had no idea how to react to that, what to say to assuage that feeling of inferiority. 

“I’m with you because I want to be,” she said eventually. “Because I want you. And you’re not beneath me or anything like that. You pulled yourself out of an awful, dark place with practically no help at all, when all the odds were stacked against you. That makes you strong, Spike, and brave and - and good. So please don’t feel like that. You can ask me anything, I promise.” 

As she spoke, she felt herself begin to believe the words, felt the first seeds of hope taking root inside her. These were all the reasons she should be with him, the things that made him worth the risk. He was giving her that look again, the incredulous, awe struck expression he’d once worn when she’d told him she believed in him. 

“Thank you,” he said in a choked voice and she shrugged, feeling a little self conscious now that the grand emotion was fading. 

“Well, almost anything,” she said seriously and he waited with comical attentiveness. “I draw the line at watching Passions.”

Spike let out a startled snort of laughter and Buffy laughed with him, then broke off with a yelp of surprise when he grabbed her face in both hands and kissed her fervently. 

“This is why I love you,” he murmured when he finally pulled away. Buffy smiled at him breathlessly and kissed him again. It was awkward with both of them craning towards each other like that and she was majorly tempted to give up on her mature distance rule and just climb into his lap but she knew where that would lead. Apart from the fact that Giles would kill them if they banged on his floor, it would feel like running away again. She’d used sex with Spike as an escape from her own problems far too often in the past to feel comfortable with doing him now when there were still faint traces of tension in the air. She envied his easy, casual declaration of love, his certainty in his own feelings. She felt a little better about the whole thing now but years of second guessing every decision she made, constantly forced to decide between her duty and her personal life and feeling guilty no matter which one she chose had left its mark on her. She was incapable of rushing into things anymore, incapable of saying the words that he knew he needed to hear until she completely sure of her own feelings. 

“Can we make a promise?” she asked. 

“Of course,” said Spike instantly. “Anything.”

“Let’s just be honest with each other, okay? No lying to protect each other, no doing what’s best for each other without asking first, no stupid misunderstandings. If we make a decision, we make it together.” 

Spike was nodding before she’d even finished speaking. “It’s a deal.”

“Promise?”

“Promise. Cross my unbeating heart. No lying.” 

She huffed out a sigh of relief and kissed him softly then broke away to study his face. 

“You look worn out,” she said. His colour, such as it was, was off. His usual pale skin was approaching greyish and the rings around his eyes had deepened. She looked closer still. 

“Is your ear supposed to be bleeding?” she asked, trying to keep her tone light. 

“Only when I think too hard,” he joked and earned himself a glare. “Sorry. Giles an’ Will were very thorough with the testing. It got kinda, uh, ‘invasive’ was the word Giles used.”

“Invasive,” Buffy repeated. “What did they do, shove needles in your ears?”

“Metaphysically speaking, sorta.” 

She grimaced. “Maybe I ought to discuss that with them.” 

“Hey, they were just doing what I asked ‘em to. If I’d asked ‘em to stop, they would’ve.” He paused. “I think.” 

Buffy fished a clean tissue from her pocket and went to stand beside him so she could wipe the blood off his ear. He smiled up at her affectionately but his eyes were drooping with tiredness. She crumpled the tissue and bent to kiss his temple. 

“Why don’t you go to bed?” she suggested. “Before I’m forced to upgrade ‘worn out’ to ‘actually dead’.” 

He snorted. “Thanks for that.”

“Welcome.” She grinned at him impishly and kissed him upside down, his head tipped back to grant her access to his lips. Her fingers danced lightly down his neck, enjoying the feeling of soft skin over hard tendons. 

“Seriously,” she said, breaking away from him. “If you don’t get your ass to bed soon, I’ll carry you there myself.” 

“Promises, promises,” muttered Spike but he hauled himself out of the chair obediently, moving like a stiff old man. That was a bad sign. Buffy made a mental note to ask Willow about what exactly had been involved in those tests. He let her take some of his weight as they left the apartment, arm slung casually around her shoulders. Exhausted as she was from the intensity of that conversation, that feeling gave her the good tingles. Now that they’d got that bit of unpleasantness behind them for the time being - she hadn’t forgotten that they still had to deal with whatever the hell had used Spike to set a trap for her but he was obviously far too spent for big strategic discussions right at that moment and honestly, so was she - her excitement at being in a relationship was starting to set in again. She couldn’t wait to do relationshippy things, like going on dates and movie nights and slaying unspeakable evil and in jokes and long, meandering, late night chats about nothing at all and eating large quantities of sugar together and of course, sex, sex, sex. Lusty Buffy rejoiced. 

She left Spike at his door because by his own admission he would have to be dust to have her in his bedroom and not do anything about it and they were both completely ‘knackered’ - she was proud to say that she was relatively fluent in Spike-English, which was of course, different from but not unrelated to Giles-English, neither of which had very much at all in common with American English. Dawn and Willow were both still out so once she’d practically fallen in her own door she helped herself to the emergency supply of ice cream, which had taken a serious hit of late. She put grocery shopping on her list of things she was too emotionally drained to even contemplate and instead took stock of the last twenty four hours. Confront hidden feelings for Spike? Check. Reveal said feelings to him? Check. Insanely hot, vampire stamina sexathon? Check. Inevitable Buffy Summers Relationship Drama TM? Check. Actually deal with aforementioned drama in a mature, sensible fashion? Mostly check. Kiss and make up? Check. Ish. Some further making up might be required once both parties involved were not about to collapse from exhaustion. All in all, she thought, not bad for an emotionally stunted vampire slayer with daddy issues masquerading as a functioning adult.


End file.
